


Symbiosis

by thirty2flavors



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Developing Friendships, First Meetings, Gen, gen - Freeform, mentions of canon-typical violence offscreen, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 22:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: After three years on Helios, Yvette knows all the necessary rules to survive and succeed. Most importantly: don't get involved with newbies. Don't get involved with other people, period.





	Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> I found Yvette's character to be tragically underwritten; of everyone in the game, I think Telltale really dropped the ball on her. For a character introduced as Rhys' "other best friend", we don't learn much about her or her relationship with the guys, and whether you save her or not, her choice is never really properly explored or explained. 
> 
> So the solution, obviously, was to write an 8k character study to flesh her out enough to make myself happy.

Hyperion was full of rules. Understanding those rules—as well as when and how to break them—was the key not only to surviving, but to succeeding. 

Yvette knew all of them. 

Obviously, the two idiots at the table across from her did not, or they’d have known they were talking loudly and boisterously at a coffee shop that was typically respected as a quiet refuge. Happily for the strangers, this was not the sort of rule-breaking that was likely to get you shoved out an airlock. Unfortunately for Yvette, it was the sort of rule-breaking that made lunch unexpectedly annoying. 

Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly through her nose and massaged her temple with her pointer finger, listening to their obnoxious laughter. Her perfectly adequate lunch break was going to be ruined by two idiots discussing a ten-year-old video game. 

With the grudging acceptance that her plan of peaceful reading was shattered, she set her tablet down on the table, looked over at the offenders, and rolled her eyes.

Oh. Newbies. _Of course_.

Newbies were always easy to identify on Helios: too dressed up or too dressed down, nervous and jittery in all the wrong ways, way too eager to please or dangerously bold, inexperienced and naive. They fumbled their way through the myriad of social mores with only minimal success. New recruits came in waves, and they learned quickly or they were… let go. After three years on the station, Yvette could just about set her watch to it. Senior employees had pools. 

Yvette tilted her head, studying the strangers, and tried to decide where she’d put her money in this case. 

Tweedledum was tall, gawky and poorly dressed, with the crest of a tattoo peeking out over his collar. He already looked at home—or at least he was faking it convincingly, and that was a vital skill. 

Tweedledee was short, gawkier, and far more nervous-looking than his buddy. He, at least, had the decency to lean across the table when he spoke, rather than attempting to wake the surrounding station block as he described a high score. 

Both looked fresh out of college, which was a mixed bag, as far as survival skills went. They wouldn't have much in the way of experience but they also wouldn’t have much to unlearn. 

Hyperion could be second nature in no time. 

Yvette sat back in her chair and took a sip of her coffee, watching and eavesdropping. She estimated about a 70% chance of survival into their sixth month.

Then the tall one hit the table with his knee, and the short one lurched forward to save his bowl of soup, knocking their water jug to the floor where it splashed all over the shoe and ankle of a passerby.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” demanded the passerby, gesturing to his wet foot. 

Yvette would’ve known the voice even if she didn’t know the face. That was no newbie. That was Hugo Vasquez. She took another sip of her coffee, mentally adjusting the newbies’ survival rate. Maybe it was more like 50%.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Shorty frantically, floundering. “That was totally—um—do you want…?” He held out a fistfull of cheap one-ply napkins.

“What I want,” said Vasquez, haughty and furious, “is to not have my shoe ruined by some entry-level idiot, but it looks like that ship has already sailed.”

He took a menacing step towards the table where they sat, and Shorty shrank back, napkins in hand, but the tall one didn’t flinch. In fact, he sat up straighter. 

“Dude, we’re sorry, okay?” he said. “It was an accident. It’s just water anyway, your shoes will dry.”

All right, thought Yvette, maybe 40%.

Vasquez turned his attention from the short kid to the taller one, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a predatory smirk. “These shoes cost more than your little starter salary makes in a month.”

The tall kid tilted his head, smirking right back. “Then I really hope you kept the receipt, because you definitely got ripped off.”

Nevermind. 25%, tops.

Vasquez’s expression darkened. “What department do you work in, kid?”

The kid snorted. “Why, you going to report me? I mean, if I were you, I don't think I'd want to admit to being upset about those shoes.”

 _I’m going to regret this,_ thought Yvette, and she slid to her feet.

“Hugo!” she called, smiling as she walked towards the conflict, coffee cup in hand. “Good to see you.”

Startled at the interruption, both newbies turned to stare at her. Vasquez’s demeanour changed immediately, smarmy and professional as he faced her. 

“Yvette,” he answered, complete with his car salesman smile. “You see this?” He gestured, again, to his damp pantleg. 

She hissed a sympathetic breath through her teeth. “Shame.” Then she widened her eyes and reached out as though having an epiphany. “Oh! I’ve been meaning to follow up with you—you requested a new screen, right?”

Her abrupt change in topic took Vasquez by surprise, and he stared at her, uncomprehending. “Yeah. Ages ago.”

“Mmm.” She frowned in concern as she nodded. “See, that’s what I thought. But—weirdest thing—I was looking for your requisition form today, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Are you sure you submitted one?”

Wet shoes temporarily forgotten, Vasquez’s outrage was now focused on Yvette. “No way, I definitely submitted that form. How did you lose it?”

“Strange...” She tapped one finger on her chin. “Well, unfortunately, as you know, I can’t do anything without the paperwork—Hyperion rules—so—”

“What?!” 

“It’s probably best you resubmit one now,” she said seriously. She moved her hand to the side of her mouth and, as an aside, added, “Between you and I, our processing queue’s like, eight weeks long right now, so you’ll want to get in there as quick as you can.”

“Oh come on,” said Vasquez, throwing his hands into the air, the cool illusion of control shattered by his sudden frustration, “that’s absurd, I requested that screen weeks ago and I…”

He stopped speaking abruptly as something clicked into place, and then his expression was cold once more. In the periphery of her vision, she could make out the two newbies looking between them in confusion and awe. 

“Really, Yvette?” asked Vasquez. He jabbed his thumbs towards each of the newbies. “These two clowns? Really?”

Yvette’s smile never wavered. 

“Tell you what,” she said lightly, “why don’t you go grab a towel, and I’ll take another look for that form after lunch? Who knows, maybe I’ll have better luck this time.”

With a heavy sigh and an eyeroll towards the ceiling, Vasquez shook his head. “Yeah. Whatever.” He shot one last scowl at all of them, then stalked away, dripping as he went.

Yvette took a sip of her coffee, one eyebrow cocked in satisfaction. Next to her, the newbies sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Then the short one spoke first. “What… just happened?” he asked slowly, still clutching a handful of napkins.

That shocked the tall one back to life. 

“Oh my God. That was amazing. Did you see his face?!” He looked up at Yvette, and then over at his friend. “Vaughn, I’m in love,” he declared, a grin spreading as he pressed one hand to his heart. He looked back up at her and thrust out his free hand for her to shake. “I’m Rhys, by the way, that’s Vaughn, and you are…?”

“Not even a little bit interested. Bye now,” she said coolly, her free hand firmly on her hip, and started to turn.

Rhys’ confidence slipped for the first time at the rejection. “No, sorry, that wasn’t—I wasn’t really—that was just…” He cleared his throat. “What’s your name? I mean, we should know the name of our saviour.” 

Yvette rolled her eyes but stopped walking, looking over her shoulder as she scooped up her tablet. “Okay, for starters, I’m not your saviour. I didn’t do it for you. I had a score to settle; I think that guy breaks his own equipment to get upgrades.” 

Rhys looked utterly fascinated by this mundane office gossip. 

“It’s Yvette,” the short one, Vaughn, interrupted. “That’s your name, right? That’s what he called you.”

Rhys grinned again, reaching for a neighboring chair. “Yvette! Sit down, join us. I’d love to hear more.”

Like an exuberant puppy, his enthusiasm was firmly on the line between amusing and annoying. Yvette smirked. “No, thanks.” She tapped her watch. “Gotta get back.”

With that, she turned and took another step.

“At least let us buy you lunch tomorrow,” called Rhys, and she could still hear the grin in his voice even without turning around. “As a thank you.”

Yvette paused, weighing her options. She didn’t get involved with newbies. She didn’t really like to get involved with other people, period. That was a rule, too—one of her own.

On the other hand: free food.

“Fine,” she called back. “Tomorrow. Not here, though. The restaurant in sector 83C. It’ll be busy, so get there ten minutes early.”

“Awesome!” chimed Rhys. 

As she walked away, she heard him mutter, “Where’s sector 83C?” 

— 

By the time Yvette arrived for lunch, Rhys and Vaughn were already waiting for her.

By the time they got their food, she’d already learned way more about either of them than she’d ever planned. College friends, they’d started at Hyperion together only a week ago. Vaughn worked in accounting, and Rhys worked in data mining, although, he told her, he had every intention to move “where the money was” and had taken the position primarily as a foot in the door because he was good with computers. He wanted to make a six figure salary by the time he turned thirty, and had sketched out an elaborate plan to make that happen. Longer-term he had even bigger dreams. He was going to be CEO one day. Vaughn would be his CFO. They were going to be rich, and powerful, and rich. 

Rhys did a lot of talking.

Yvette listened to it all without comment until she finished the last of her soda. Then she sat back, folded her arms, and asked, “Do either of you actually know anything about Hyperion?” 

They exchanged glances, but then Rhys laughed once, sharp and overconfident. “Uh, yeah. I studied more for this interview than for my final exams.”

“It’s true, he did,” added Vaughn, when Yvette raised an eyebrow. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at his plate. “It was… kind of weird.”

Rhys didn’t seem to register the insult.

“Okay,” said Yvette, shaking her head, “whatever you read, it’s got nothing on the reality, all right? There are ways of doing things here. Learn them. Quickly.” 

She expected a bit of pushback—some baseless assertion that Rhys already knew everything there was to know, thank you very much—but instead he leaned forward on his elbows, attentive. “Okay. So tell me.”

“That was not me volunteering as tutor,” she clarified, “that was just… casual advice.” 

“Well, give me more casual advice, then.”

Yvette looked away, folded legs bouncing under the table. It was pointless to get involved with newbies, especially ones with mouths so big they were likely to get themselves airlocked before the end of fiscal. 

She sighed.

She ought to have ordered a more expensive lunch. 

“All right, you want advice?” She turned back, sizing them both up. “Your haircut is bad,” she told Rhys. “Change it. Buy some product. New clothes, too.” 

Rhys reached self-consciously for his hair. 

She looked over at Vaughn. “You’re in accounting, right?” She gave him a good once-over, considered, and then shrugged. “You’re fine.”

“Thanks,” said Vaughn automatically, and then he frowned. “Wait, was that an insult?” 

“Don’t tell everyone your plans,” Yvette continued. “Keep your mouth shut. You’ll only mark yourself as competition.” On a roll now, she sat forward too, back straight and eyebrows arched. “And most importantly: stop trying to make friends. This isn’t the place for that.”

Rhys had absorbed the rest of it without complaint, but at this last point he wrinkled his nose in doubt. “Wait, seriously? That’s your sage advice? ‘Don’t make friends’?”

Yvette lifted one shoulder. “Ignore me if you want, it’s your funeral.”

“I’m just saying, that’s pretty rich advice coming from someone literally eating lunch with us right now.”

“Oh, no, no, don’t get it twisted. This—” Yvette wagged a finger in reprimand before pointing down at her plate “—is not about friendship, this is about a free meal.” 

Rhys sat back in his chair, one arm looped across the back of it as he smirked. “Uh-huh, sure, and when you helped us yesterday, that was…”

But he fell quiet as someone else walked up to their table, and the three of them turned to find Hugo Vasquez looming, coffee in hand.

“Aw, look at this, it’s like a little reunion,” he crooned. 

“You again?” muttered Rhys, and Yvette shifted her legs so she was better positioned to kick him under the table.

Vasquez ignored him, turning instead to send a wide fake smile to Yvette. “That new screen arrived yesterday, after all. Guess you found the form.”

She smiled back. “Always in the last place you look.” She glanced down. “Your shoes dried.”

Vasquez’s smile flickered but stayed in place. “You know, Yvette, it’s good to see you making some friends, I know you’ve had trouble with that.”

Yvette didn’t blink. Rhys opened his mouth to say something, but she drove her heel into his calf and he wisely clicked his teeth shut again.

“Well, anyway,” Vasquez continued, smugger than ever, “enjoy your meal.”

He made to leave then, walking around their table, but he stumbled on the way, spilling the rest of his coffee down Vaughn’s shoulder.

“Ohhh, that’s—that’s hot,” yelped Vaughn, jumping in his seat.

“Oops,” said Vasquez. 

“What the hell?” snapped Rhys, scowling furiously. He moved like he was about to stand up, and Yvette stamped her foot down on top of his.

“Sorry,” said Vasquez, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “Accident.” 

“Happens to the best of us,” said Yvette lightly, still applying pressure to Rhys’ foot until he finally jerked his leg away and scowled at her, too. “See you around, Hugo.”

Vasquez left them with a triumphant smirk.

“What the hell?” Rhys repeated, alternating between mutinous looks at Yvette and concerned looks towards Vaughn’s coffee-stained shoulder. “Bro, are you okay?” 

“It—it’s fine,” said Vaughn pathetically, lifting his soaked shirt off his skin with two fingers. “It’s just, uh, some light… burning…”

“Next piece of advice,” sighed Yvette. She tipped the ice from her empty soda cup into a napkin and handed it over to Vaughn. “Pick your battles. He thinks he won. Let him forget you exist.”

Rhys said nothing, but he glared in the direction of Vasquez’s exit, and Yvette knew he was no longer listening. 

— 

They were barely out the door from lunch when a woman from HR spotted Yvette and mimed shooting her in the neck.

Yvette reacted on instinct, gripping the imaginary wound with one hand and mimicking a blood spurt with the other. She staggered to the side, gurgling and sinking lower with each step, and the woman from HR punched the air in victory before wandering off. 

As finger-gun ambushes go, it was friendly and routine; Yvette thought nothing of it until she straightened up again and found Vaughn and Rhys were staring at her, mystified.

“Okay, so I have no idea what just happened,” said Vaughn. Rhys said nothing, but his eyebrows had crept high on his forehead and his mouth was ajar.

She lifted her chin and sent Rhys a pointed look. “What? I thought you read _all about_ Hyperion.”

“Oh, I, uh, I did read about that,” said Rhys. “I thought it was, like, an initiation prank or... something.”

Yvette smoothed down her skirt and shook her head. “No, it’s… very serious.”

Rhys and Vaughn stared back at her.

“It is,” she insisted, ignoring the self-conscious heat in her cheeks. 

“Uh huh,” said Rhys, in a way that made it sound almost like a laugh. 

“It is! And you should… respect it.” She stood straighter, doing her best to look dignified in spite of Rhys’ increasingly amused grin. “You know what, you—” She gestured to Vaughn “—should probably go put on a shirt that isn’t coffee stained.” 

“Yeah,” said Vaughn, a little too lightly, “I think my skin is blistering.”

Rhys and Yvette shared a grimace. 

“There’s a quick change station down the hall.” Yvette gestured vaguely in its direction as she looked down at her watch. “I should get back to…”

She looked up to find the two of them shrugging at each other in mutual confusion, and she sighed, beckoning them to follow her.

“It’s on my way, just—hurry up, okay?”

Electing to ignore the smug look she was sure was on Rhys’ face, she lead them briskly down the corridor and gestured towards the quick change station. As Rhys and Vaughn approached it, Yvette started down the hallway towards her office.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said shortly, “remember what I said, keep to yourselves, watch your…” 

She trailed off, watching as Rhys and Vaughn frantically mimed to each other. For a second she frowned, trying to figure out what the issue was— _surely_ Hyperion hadn’t hired two people who couldn’t work a machine?—then she saw Rhys gesture to his pockets helplessly. 

She tossed her head back and groaned. “Oh my god, seriously?” 

Vaughn had the sense to stare down at his shoes, but Rhys only sent her a sheepish smile and shrug. “Spent it all on lunch,” he said.

“I’d say you owe me,” she grumbled, digging into her pocket to produce a couple of bills she then thrust at Vaughn, “but I’m not sure I’d actually benefit from your servitude.” 

“Thanks,” said Vaughn, taking the cash, and Rhys beamed, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Now I’m going back to my desk, to reminisce about times when a free lunch didn’t cost me money.” With an abrupt flick of her wrist, Yvette waved and started down the hallway. “Bye.”

“See you around?” called Rhys hopefully.

“No,” she answered without turning around, “because we’re not friends. Goodbye.”

“Yvette! Wait!” 

With a reluctant groan, Yvette turned on her heel only to find Rhys with one arm raised, finger gun pointed straight at her.

She raised an eyebrow, and Rhys smirked. They watched each other for a second or two, challenging, and then Yvette raised her hand, too. 

Rhys let her fake-fire first, and obediently stumbled backwards when her pretend bullet lodged itself in his chest. Triumphant and unable to stop her own smirk from forming, Yvette turned to head back to her office. 

As she walked away, she could just hear Vaughn say, “This place is _so weird_.”

—

Yvette went almost a full three days without running into Rhys, Vaughn or Vasquez again. It was big space station. Conceivably, she could go the rest of her life without having to deal with them, especially when factoring in the anticipated brevity of their careers. The whole experience might be written off as a simple but forgettable moment of charity. 

Her luck ran out on the way back from dinner at the end of the week.

“Yvette!” 

Though she ducked her head and pretended not to notice, Rhys galloped up next to her anyway. 

“Just got off work,” he told her as she sighed. “Meeting Vaughn for a drink. Celebrating our first full week at Hyperion.”

“And not airlocked yet,” she said dryly. 

Rhys paid no attention to that. “Wanna come?”

“Did you not hear what I said about making friends?” 

“Heard it, thought it was stupid, ignored it,” he said cheerfully. “So. Drink?” Before she could reply, he added, “I’m buying.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he said it, a misguided attempt at being enticing. 

He’d listened to her about the haircut, she noticed.

Yvette sighed. “Fine.”

—

Vaughn, as it turned out, was running late, leaving Yvette alone with Rhys and her Manhattan for longer than she’d expected. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was orchestrated.

With little input from her, Rhys yammered away about his day and his work and just about anything else that happened to cross his mind. Despite herself, Yvette was impressed at how readily he could fill the silence, and how carefully he straddled the line between irritating and ingratiating. He was the sort of person who won people over without them understanding how he’d done it. 

“You planning on moving to sales?” she asked, when he stopped for a breath. 

“Oh, definitely,” said Rhys without missing a beat, like it was obvious. “All that sweet, sweet commission money waiting to be made. You?” 

“Requisitions has more opportunity than you might think,” was all she said. She studied him critically. “Next question: what’s the deal with your friend? Vaughn?”

Rhys frowned, taking another swig of his beer, the cheap brand that betrayed his recent stint in college and led Yvette to believe her choice of twelve dollar cocktail wasn’t appreciated. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t seem as... eager to be here as you do.” 

“Oh.” He shrugged, reaching down the bar to grab a handful of peanuts from the communal bowl. “Well, he’s probably not. Hyperion was my idea.” 

He popped the peanuts into his mouth while Yvette raised an eyebrow. “You convinced him to come work at Hyperion? Why?” 

He looked at her like he couldn’t even fathom the question. “‘Cause… _I_ wanted to work here and he’s my best friend? Why not?” He shelled another peanut. 

With the nail of her pinky finger, she pushed the peanut shells away from the stem of her glass. “It’s kind of a commitment. Hyperion’s not for everyone.”

“It’s not like it was a hard sell. ‘Come work on this sweet space station with me and make a ton of money’.” He waved a hand and spoke around a mouthful of peanut. “Vaughn’ll be fine. Just, y’know, needs to find his niche.” 

_He’d better do it fast_ , she thought about saying, but settled for taking another drink instead. Too late for that piece of advice now. 

“What about you?” asked Rhys, who’d given up being subtle and dragged the entire bowl of peanuts over to them. “Big on this lone wolf thing, huh? How’s that working out for you?”

“Lone wolf thing?” Yvette reeled back to stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me? You don’t know me.”

Rhys wasn’t nearly as ashamed as she’d have liked. “You were all, ‘oooh don’t try to make friends, I am an island’—”

“I do not sound like that.”

“—and Vasquez said—”

“So you’re listening to him now?” she snapped.

That shut him up for half a second while he reconsidered his next words. “I’m just saying, you make a big show of it.”

She narrowed her eyes over the rim of her glass. “Maybe I just don’t want to be your friend.”

“Maybe.” He tossed back the rest of his beer and looked at her, smirking arrogantly again. “You keep helping us, though, so I’m not so sure about that.”

“Maybe I just like free food,” she said with a sneer. She sat up straighter on her stool, swirling the last dregs of her drink around in her glass. “But it’s not about preference, it’s about practicality. Helios isn’t where you go to make friends. You don’t figure that out, you won’t be here long.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. Sounds miserable.” Off her look, he shrugged again. “What? You’re gonna live here conceivably the rest of your life and you’re just, what, not hanging out with anyone? Ever? Seriously?” He shook his head. “No way. No thanks.”

This, she thought, was precisely why the Hyperion turnover rate was so damn high. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, sighing. 

“It’s not that you can’t 'hang out' with people,” she said finally. “Plenty of people here will talk to you. They’ll eat with you, they’ll laugh with you, they’ll even fuck and marry you. What you need to get through your head is that all of them— _all_ of them—would stab you in the back if that’s what they needed to do.”

While she spoke, Rhys listened intently, but by the time she’d finished, he was smirking again. “So you’re a real romantic, then.”

Sliding her glasses back on, Yvette held his gaze. “Relationships on Helios are only as sacred as they are convenient.” She jerked her chin in his direction. “You think I don’t know full well why you’re so keen on being my ‘friend’?”

Rhys had the decency to look caught out, but he recovered quickly. 

“Okay, I mean, sure, yeah, I do think you’d be an…” he paused, carefully considering his next words, “...important connection to have. But that doesn’t have to be all of it.” He flashed a smile. “Think of it like a… a symbiotic relationship.”

Yvette quirked an eyebrow. “So… one of us is a parasite?”

“No! No, no, I mean, like, one of the good ones, you know, like—like the fish that eat the dead tissue off the bigger fish.”

“That’s disgusting.” 

“No, it’s—okay, yes it is, but I…” Flustered, he waved one hand. “Okay, forget the fish. Just, it’s mutually beneficial, is what I’m saying.” 

“Yeah? And what benefit exactly are you bringing to the table?”

“I’m… working on that,” he said, confidence resurfacing. “Besides—if you’re not getting anything out of this, and people on Helios only help each other when they get something out of it, why are you still here?” He raised his eyebrows in delight at his own rhetorical victory. “Ha! See? Boom.” 

Yvette groaned, but before she could explain the danger of his hubris, Vaughn appeared between them, suddenly enough that she jumped. 

“I… need another cocktail,” muttered Yvette.

“Hey,” said Vaughn. “What’d I miss?”

“Vaughn! You’re just in time.” Rhys swung around on his barstool to face Vaughn and leaned back against the bar, grinning. “Yvette’s got the next round.” 

—

The first time she spoke to Vaughn alone was Monday morning. Engrossed in her just-purchased coffee and start-of-the-week haze, she nearly walked into him when he appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh, God,” she scolded as she jumped back, careful to keep her precious cargo upright, “don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” said Vaughn, though he didn’t move out of her way. “I was just—um I wanted to ask…”

Yvette cocked her hip, and Vaughn shifted under her scrutiny, avoiding her eyes and tugging at the collar of his shirt. _Find his niche_ , Yvette thought grimly. Yeah. Right. 

“Spit it out,” she prompted.

Mustering up the requisite courage from somewhere, Vaughn looked up at her, keen and suspicious. “Why did you help us, the other day?”

Yvette huffed impatiently. “I told you, Vasquez is a pain in the ass. It was fun to make a fool of him. All right?” 

“Yeah… yeah, that’s what you said.” Vaughn adjusted his glasses. “Except I looked up his department’s budgeting history, and there was nothing weird about their requisition requests. Plus, you know, with everything you were saying—it doesn’t make sense, right? Why get involved? Why piss him off?”

She folded her free arm across her chest, the other holding her coffee, and narrowed her eyes. “What’s your point?”

If he was intimidated by her change in posture, he didn’t show it. In lieu of an answer, he said, “Rhys thinks you were just being nice.”

“And you don’t?” 

Vaughn hesitated, but shook his head. “I don’t really think anyone around here does anything just because they’re nice.”

Yvette’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. 

“Smart,” she remarked. When Vaughn still didn’t move out of her way, she sighed. “Look, it was an uncharacteristic moment of charity, okay? It’s not part of some grand scheme, if that’s what you’re worried about.” When he didn’t move, she added, “I don’t stand to gain anything from you two, anyway.”

Only that last bit seemed to get through to him, and he visibly relaxed. “Okay. Right. Sure.” 

Finally Yvette stepped around him, her heels clicking along the hallway. “Good chat. Bye now.”

“You know,” Vaughn began, “it’s interesting, ‘cause, all the requests you guys get, for equipment and stuff, we do all the budgeting for that. Who spent what, when, who approved it… or who didn’t.” He glanced around the hallway and touched his glasses again. “Just, uh. Thought that was neat.”

Her head tilted as she considered him. It was as if he’d come into focus for the first time. 

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Neat.” She lifted her coffee cup in a vague salute. “See you around, Vaughn.”

As she walked back to her office, she nursed her coffee, a thoughtful frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. 

Maybe Vaughn wasn’t as bad a match for Hyperion as she’d thought.

—

The next and final ambush took place in the convenience store.

It had been a long day— _god,_ the stack of forms to be processed had seemed endless—and Yvette had spent most of it counting down to what awaited her when she got home: a bottle of red wine, a bar of dark chocolate and a trashy film about a woman’s affair with her sister-in-law. Her hands were already closing around the neck of her chosen bottle when, like magic, Hyperion’s two most annoying new recruits materialized on either side of her.

“Hey, Yvette,” said Rhys, smugger than ever, and Yvette flinched, narrowly avoiding the disaster of knocking over a shelf of Pinot.

“Are you stalking me?” she demanded sharply. “I feel like I’m being stalked.”

“We live around the corner,” said Vaughn, in his familiar apologetic tone. “We just wanted snacks.” He held up a bag of potato chips in proof of innocence. 

Rhys, though, was still grinning, cocky as ever. The glint in his eyes was even more self-satisfied than normal, and Yvette decided quickly that she didn’t like or trust it.

“So,” said Rhys, stuffing his hands into his pockets and adopting a totally unbelievable look of innocence. “Yvette. Would you say I… remind you of anyone?”

“You remind me of an idiot.”

“Hmmm.” Rhys didn’t flinch. “What about Vaughn?” 

Yvette looked at Vaughn, who stared down at the bag of chips in his hand and shifted guiltily. Her eyes narrowed. “Is this going somewhere?”

“Well,” said Rhys, still with the air he was building to something, “I was thinking you might say we remind you of Damien, or Shawn…”

Yvette made no sound, but the look on her face must have spoken for itself. 

“Brothers, right?” Rhys continued, apparently oblivious to the thin ice he was treading on. “That was my guess. You don’t look old enough to have sons, but— _ow_!” 

Rhys’ smug voice gave way to a yelp as Yvette grabbed him by the ear and twisted, pulling him down to eye-level with her.

“Ow, ow, okay, you know, this is only supporting my theory,” he pointed out, but the self-satisfaction had evaporated in the face of discomfort, replaced by something far more pathetic as he swatted at her hand.

Yvette didn’t let go. “Where did you hear those names?” 

“They were in your personnel file,” he said, still squirming. “Next of kin. I—”

“Stop talking.” She turned her attention to Vaughn, who was watching the scene with wide eyes and looked to be debating whether he ought to try tackling Yvette or not. “You said you lived close?”

“Uh, yeah, we’re—”

“Take me there.” She let go of Rhys with a shove, and he staggered away, pouting at her as he rubbed his red ear. “Now.” 

—

To any observers, Yvette imagined it was probably pretty funny, the way she marched them through their own front door and slammed it shut behind her. As it was, Yvette wasn’t in much of a laughing mood, and Vaughn seemed terrified. Sensible.

Rhys, on the other hand, looked about two seconds from bursting into nervous laughter. She glared at him particularly dangerously to ensure he didn’t.

“All right,” she said, breaking the silence, hands on her hips as she stood just inside their doorway. “Explain how the hell you’ve seen my personnel file.”

Vaughn looked up at Rhys warily, like he knew that whatever the answer was, it would only make Yvette angier. “Um…” 

“I may have done some, ah, recreational… digital… reconnaissance,” said Rhys, putting on a smile and running a hand through his slicked-back hair. 

In the time it took Yvette to process the euphemism, the glare on her face was replaced by wide-eyed shock. “You hacked into confidential Hyperion files?” she sputtered.

Immediately, the arrogance was back, and he lifted one shoulder in a would-be casual shrug. “It was pretty easy, honestly, it—”

“ _Are you insane?!_ ” she demanded, so sharp that Rhys flinched. “Are you _trying_ to get murdered? Do you have a death wish?” She looked to Vaughn. “Is this a cry for help?” 

Unbelievably, Rhys still sounded amused. “Aw, Yvette, you worried about me?”

“ _You_? I’m worried about _myself_ if someone starts wondering why I was seen hanging around with the idiots who got themselves thrown out an airlock for stealing corporate secrets _in their second week_.”

Rhys laughed, but there was a titch of anxiety in it now. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“No, you’re naive.” Her voice was cold. “I used to live across the hall from two girls. Good friends. Started the same time I did. One of them, Krystal, she worked in marketing. Three months into Krystal’s time here, it came out that she was seeing someone. Long-distance. _He_ worked for Dahl.” Yvette let that sink in, placing both hands on her hips. “Two days later, Krystal and her roommate resigned.”

A stunned silence followed, during which Vaughn turned slightly green. 

Rhys only blinked at her.

“That’s your dramatic backstory?” he asked. “You knew some girls who quit?”

“Nobody quits Hyperion.”

Rhys started to roll his eyes. “You are so melodramatic—”

“Actually, she’s right,” said Vaughn. “Our contracts recommended our two weeks’ notice double as a suicide note.” 

There was a beat as Rhys and Yvette looked at him. Then Vaughn descended into appropriate panic.

“Oh, my God,” he said, pacing back and forth in one spot. “She’s right. I knew this was a bad idea. We’re gonna die. We’re gonna die, and we haven’t even got our first paycheck yet. This is how we die, Rhys.” He grabbed his hair. “I should call my mom.”

Rhys’ nose wrinkled, and then he waved both hands like he was cutting off an orchestra. “Okay, you’re both being ridiculous. No one’s going to die. For starters, I’m not selling company secrets to a competitor, I’m just… looking around.” When Vaughn looked no more reassured, Rhys continued more urgently. “And I doubt Hyperion even cares about this stuff, because it was, like, stupid easy to hack—”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate the humblebrag when they kill you,” said Yvette.

“No, it really was, okay? If they wanted to protect that information, they’d’ve encrypted it better. Trust me. They might as well print it on a poster-board with a stickynote saying ‘don’t read’. They, ha, they really don’t care about our privacy, like, at all.” He paused. “It’s... a little worrying.” 

Rhys looked earnestly between the two of them, and Vaughn stopped pacing, while Yvette folded her arms. 

“Fine,” she said with a sigh, “that’s the how. Now explain why the hell you were looking for my file in the first place.”

“Right. Yeah. Well, I mean, I wasn’t looking for yours, specifically. I was just… taking a look around.” He said it breezily, as though hacking into the HR files of your new employer was what any reasonable person might do in their second week. “Wanted to know how easy it was. Turns out: very. So then I was looking for our good friend Hugo—”

Yvette let out a long breath that was more like an extended sigh.

“—y’know, thought I should get to know him. Did you know he used to work in the mail room? The _mail room_. And he was giving us a hard time for being ‘entry-level’. Ha!”

Yvette massaged the spot between her eyes. 

“...Anyway,” said Rhys, back on track. “After I signed dear old Hugo up for, ah, some subscription services I thought he’d appreciate, I got, well…”

“Mad with power?” suggested Vaughn.

“Curious,” said Rhys. 

“So you decided to spy on _me_?” Yvette took a step forward, and was gratified when Rhys took a step back. “I’ve been helping you!”

“Yeah, for mysterious undisclosed reasons,” Rhys shot back. “Vaughn told me you were lying about Vasquez. So I had a look. You told me to watch my back, right? So I did.” 

He folded his arms, looking confident again, and Yvette looked away, scowling at the wall of their tiny apartment. Hacking into Hyperion’s HR files was not the sort of back-watching she’d had in mind, nor had she imagined herself as the subject of suspicion. 

But… well, she couldn’t deny it was effective. It would be a useful skill, in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. Without getting themselves killed.

“Those names popped up a lot, Damien and Shawn,” Rhys continued. “Next of kin, emergency contacts, primary recipients of compensation funding in the event of your unauthorized death…” He gestured as he enumerated each item on the list, then looked at her. “So? Brothers, right? I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Immensely proud of his deduction, Rhys wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly. Yvette exhaled through her teeth and let her hands fall from hips to hang at her sides. Three years she’d been at Hyperion, keeping to herself, playing all her cards close to her chest, only for it all to be undone in an afternoon by some idiot with a keyboard. 

“Yes,” she said at last, “brothers. Younger. Twins.” She waved a hand back and forth between Rhys and Vaughn. “That first day, I heard you two talking about that stupid video game they used to play, and then you got tangled up with Vasquez, I had a moment of weakness that’s haunted me ever since. That’s all. Okay?”

Braced for gloating, she lifted her chin and kept her face as challenging as she could. But Rhys and Vaughn only looked at each other, sharing some wordless understanding she wasn’t part of. 

God, they were like her brothers.

“Do they live on Helios?” Vaughn asked after a second. 

“No. Thank God. They’re not...” She weighed her next words carefully. “They wouldn’t do well here.”

They both absorbed that for a moment, and then Rhys asked, “Do you see them often?”

“Not since I came here. It’s… far.” Her tone was practiced, controlled, impassive, even as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the side of her skirt. “Are we done here? You satisfied? You gonna stay out of my personal files now? I had plans for tonight, you know.”

Vaughn huffed a short laugh. “I mean, you’re the one who brought us here to—”

“Yeah,” Rhys cut in. “We’re good. We’re done.” 

It was the most serious she’d seen him look, and it unnerved her a little. Perfectly ready to retreat from this hell of her own making, Yvette nodded once, briskly, and reached for their door.

“Unless… you wanted to stay?” Rhys asked, and she looked over her shoulder to see him point between himself and Vaughn with one thumb. “We were just gonna hang out and play _Bonestorm 7_.” He nodded his head behind him. “There’s an extra controller.”

One hand hovering near the door, Yvette considered the two of them, their faces like open books, their welcoming ignorance, their tiny shared living space already littered with debris from a personalized tornado. 

Elsewhere on Helios, her own apartment was waiting for her, tidy and clean and empty. 

She cocked her hip and allowed herself to grin. “Well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

—

Muscle memory was a hell of a thing.

Though she hadn’t played _Bonestorm_ since leaving home, it didn’t take Yvette long to find her stride and win enough rounds to put Rhys and Vaughn in their place. Yelling in triumph at the screen as she knocked knees and elbows with the boys on their cramped pleather sofa, she found herself thinking, in a deep dark place she’d never admit to, that this was maybe more fun than the night she’d planned for herself.

Maybe. A little.

They ran out of food in short order (“I told you we needed those chips!”) and, after losing a match of rock-paper-scissors, Vaughn was out the door for refreshments. Yvette filled the empty space on the sofa, tucking her stocking feet up next to her and setting her controller down on the table to stretch her wrists.

“Told you I was good,” she bragged.

“Hey, it’s—you know what, we’re basically tied,” Rhys sputtered indignantly. He trailed the other two, 7 to 6 to 4. “When Vaughn gets back—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She smirked. “Damien can never beat me, either.”

Rhys took a swig of his disgusting cheap beer, crossing his ankles on the coffee table. 

“You miss them,” he said. Not even a question.

“Yes. But I’m glad they’re not here. Like I said, it’s… they’re…” She thought longingly of her unpurchased bottle of wine, and settled for fiddling with her ID badge. “This place wouldn’t be good to them. I don’t have to worry.”

Rhys considered it for a moment, watching her more keenly than she’d have imagined he was capable of. “Why are you here?” 

“Money’s good. I can send some home.” She lifted her shoulders. “I wanted to get away.” Ready to steer the conversation safely back away from herself, she nodded towards him. “What about you?”

Rhys stared at her, beer in hand. “I told you.” 

Yvette rolled her eyes. “Come on. You can’t really want to be CEO.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s implausible. Because tens of thousands of people work here,” she laughed, “and you’re in data mining.”

“For now.” He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, and Yvette wondered how long that confidence of his would last, whether it would be exacerbated or extinguished by Hyperion. “Gotta start somewhere.” Finishing his beer, he let the bottle drop to the carpet. “Worked for Handsome Jack.”

She snorted. “You are no Handsome Jack.” 

“I could be.” He lifted his chin in what he must have thought would be an impressive pose but instead made him look like a kid in a school play. “You know he started as programmer here? I could totally—hey. Hey! Stop laughing.” The pout only made her laugh harder. “Come on, no laughing at my childhood dreams on my sofa, thank you very much.”

“Sorry.” With considerable skill and a few stray giggles, she composed herself again. “I’m sure you’ll make a terrifying CEO.”

“Terrifying but benevolent. I’ll remember your good deeds.”

“I damn well hope so.” She smirked. “You won’t get anywhere without me.”

Rhys’ eyebrows shot up in a look of delight, completely erasing any pretend gravitas he might have had. “Are you volunteering? Are you done eschewing human connection?”

“Not volunteering.” She studied her nails casually. “I don’t work for free. But like you said. Maybe we could reach a… mutually beneficial arrangement.” With a quirk of one eyebrow, she raised her head. “You think you could hack anything else? Hypothetically, of course.”

A pleased grin stretched across his face, but he considered the question seriously. “Hypothetically, I’d guess the really important stuff is much better protected than some HR files. But—theoretically speaking—I’m sure there are plenty of things that aren’t.”

A wide web of possibility was already being spun in Yvette’s mind. 

“Theoretically, do you think someone could do something else? Say, forge electronic signatures?” Years of practice kept her features impassive. “You know. The sort Vaughn and I encounter on authorization forms all the time.”

Rhys’ grin flickered as he processed her words, and Yvette’s heartbeat stuttered. Perhaps she’d she’d misjudged. Perhaps she’d overestimated his bark-to-bite ratio. Perhaps she’d very foolishly revealed way too much, way too fast, to a snotty upstart with no concept of reality on Helios. 

Then he smiled. “Purely theoretically, I’d say that’s a definite possibility.”

He winked, too, like he needed to clarify that subtlety was beyond him. She’d probably need to work on that.

With a small smile of her own, Yvette relaxed, groping on the coffee table for her can of soda. Rhys stretched out fully, his head craned back to stare at the ceiling, drumming his fingers repetitively on the arm of the couch. Yvette imagined he was lost in some absurd fantasy about his breezelike ascension up the corporate ladder.

But when he spoke again, he said, “That woman you knew. Krystal. You think her roommate was in on it?”

Yvette thought about it, but shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Guilty by association.” 

“That’s crazy.” The corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown. “I mean, she might not have had anything to do with it, right? She might not’ve even known. And she just—”

“If you’re looking for due process, you’ve come to the wrong space station,” said Yvette. 

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “You know something.” 

Tempted to deny it, she sighed instead. “I know they were close, those two. Whether she was in on it or not… if she didn’t know the details, she must have suspected something was wrong.” She shrugged and flicked some lint off her blouse. “Smart play would’ve been to turn Krystal in herself. She might’ve even got a bonus for it.” 

Rhys’ lip curled. “That’s bleak.”

“That’s Hyperion.” 

“Is that what you’d’ve done? Sell her out, get your bonus?” 

For the first time, there was something hard in his voice, something she imagined was destined to be either his key to success or his fatal flaw. Perhaps both.

“I don’t put myself in those positions,” she said coolly. “I live alone.” She sat up, putting her feet back on the floor as she leaned towards Rhys, challenging. “What would you do?”

Rhys turned his head to the side to meet her eyes. “You mean if _Vaughn_ was selling company secrets to Dahl?” He scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not too worried about that.” 

“I’m serious. It’s something you should think about. Both of you.”

“What, corporate espionage?” he joked, but for the first time she got the sense he was deflecting.

“No,” she said, firm enough that his mirth faded away. “Look, I know you’re friends, and I know you just graduated and you think you’re real smart and you think you’re immortal, but Helios is a weird place. It could come down to you or him, one day. If I were you, I’d brace myself for that.” 

Rhys was silent for a long moment, studying her closely, running it over in his mind. He twisted towards her and put his hand in his chin, pensive and serious.

“You know…” he began, serious and pensive, “you must be a real hit at parties.”

Then he grinned, and Yvette flipped him off, falling back to her own end of the couch.

“Fine, don’t listen to me,” she said, palms up in surrender, “I’m just trying to—”

A few feet away, the soft click of the front door sliding open cut her off as Vaughn stepped back into the room.

“Hey, guys,” called Vaughn, plastic bags heaving with junkfood hanging off both elbows. “What’d I miss?”

With an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, Yvette watched as Rhys turned his grin to Vaughn, calm and easy and convincing. 

“Yvette here underestimates my _Bonestorm_ skills,” he said, sitting up on his knees. 

“That’s weird,” said Vaughn, plunking the bags down on the table. “I mean, there’s not a lot to estimate.”

That unleashed a whole torrent of playful bickering, and Yvette tucked her feet up under her out of the path of destruction as Vaughn sank into the empty seat on the sofa. She reached for her controller first, and then the unopened bag of chocolate-covered almonds, listening to them argue.

It was nice, having a bit of noise, a bit of company, a bit of chaos. She’d missed it more than she’d realized. Perhaps it was even worth the risk. Symbiotic, like he’d said. Mutually beneficial.

But there was a difference between risk and recklessness, and Yvette had no intention of confusing the two. She knew what choice she’d make, if it ever came to that. Rhys might not be ready to admit it, but she was pretty sure she knew what he’d do, too. 

For his sake, she hoped he never had to choose.


End file.
